Hypnos

His fur was as black as the ink that spilled from a poet's quill, and his eyes gleamed like polished onyx. A wolf, they called him, but he was more than just a beast of the wild. His name was Hypnos, and he was the embodiment of sleep itself. The forest, usually teeming with life and movement, was silent as he prowled through it. Not a leaf rustled, not a bird sang. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, afraid to disturb the serene stillness that surrounded him.
He came upon a small clearing, where a lone figure sat beneath the stars. It was a young wolf, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her head lolling to the side. Her hair tangled and matted. Hypnos studied her for a moment, his gaze gentle and sympathetic. He knew what it was like to feel weary, to long for rest.
Slowly, he padded forward, his movements silent and graceful. The wolf didn't stir as he approached, but Hypnos wasn't deterred. He sat down beside her, his body radiating a soothing warmth that seemed to seep into her bones. His breath was soft and steady, each exhale carrying with it the promise of restful sleep. The forest, still as death, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen. But for now, there was only peace. Only quiet. Only the beating of Hypnos' heart, steady and reassuring, and the woman's own, slowly beginning to match its rhythm. Her eyes drifted shut, and a small, contented sigh escaped her lips.